Whispers
by HappierThanMost
Summary: There's no way Pony can go back to school tomorrow.


_I've been on a mental break from writing. This one shot is me getting comfortable in the writing saddle again..._

 **Whispers**

"No, Pony's….out right now. Wanna leave a message for him?" A few 'uh-huhs' and a 'got-it' later, I hear Soda hang up and for just a brief moment wonder who would be calling here asking for me. Ain't like I got that many friends. My face heats up with stinging embarrassment when today starts playing back for the millionth time. I throw my arm over my eyes to try and block the memory but it's so used to having its way with me, I don't stand a chance. Nothing to do but sink further into this bed of saltine cracker crumbs and nasty, unwashed sheets.

"He hardly touched his soup." Maybe Soda's worried about me and he should be. My life is over.

"He ate the crackers. Good enough for me." Just like Darry to shrug all my pain away. I hear the scrape of a spoon and Soda's slurps as he's lapping up my cold unfinished chicken noodle. Guess he's not too bent out of shape about my condition.

Darry sounds like he's in the middle of a stretch and I can tell he's lying on the couch. "Got no kinda fever, he's goin' to school tomorrow." And just like that he's throwing his own flesh and blood to the wolves.

 _"Ms. Walker, something's wrong with Ponyboy." I can't see but I feel the pack's approach to circle me, and I wait for their laughs but they never come. I'm sure they're all just holding it in. "He looked really pale, like he was about to faint." My head is down, pressed against the cool finish of the wood, my arms form a shield to keep out the dozens of eyes that try and get a better view at the spectacle I'm making. And I'm so careful to be silent and work to still my breathing, so that I don't even allow my shoulders to rise and fall with what little air I take in and let escape. I have no tears because I'm not crying. It's more like I'm imploding. A sickly downward spiral._

 _"Boys and girls back to your easels," and Ms. Walker is trying to save me. I can't tell her she's the reason I'm breaking. I'd held everything in real good this first day back, until I walked into her art room and she looked at me the way she did. Didn't help she gave me a nice warm hug and that's when my chest started aching something awful._

 _Standing in the far back corner trying to finish my assignment, all my boldly colored acrylics started blending into a chaotic storm. Once the dizziness set in there was nothing I could do but head for cover at a nearby desk and silently scream at myself that I'd better man up and pull myself together._

 _Now that I've been noticed, I pray for a twister, an earthquake, some kind of destruction to put me back together and take me away. Maybe collapsing and fainting would've been better than this, than people thinking I might be crying. Because I'm not. I'm only falling apart is all. I feel Ms. Walker's gentle hand pat my back and her breath is close to my ear. "Pony? Honey? Why don't you go get some water, take a break until the bell rings."_

 _As I make the long walk to the door, wading through all those whispers racing rampant, pretending my face isn't wrecked, trying to tell myself maybe I don't look as bad as I feel and surely they can't see my eyes that are screaming out for my mother, I vow to never step foot in this school again._

"I ain't goin' tomorrow Darry, not when I feel this sick," I call out when I hear his heavy footsteps and I'm telling the truth. I do feel sick. My stomach's tied in twisted knots.

Darry walks in the room and hardly notices me. He's taking a look around instead, like it's the first time he's ever been in here. "God Pony you gotta start cleanin' up after yourself." He starts collecting dirty clothes and cups and moving things around with his bare feet. "It's gonna start stinkin' in here if you don't." I take a couple of deep sniffs and it smells normal to me. "I guess we oughta wash your sheets soon too, huh? Wonder how often we need to do that." He's talking more to himself when he pulls a plate and fork out of my blanket and now I just wish he'd leave.

"I don't feel good Darry," I remind him weakly.

With his arms full of my jeans and shirts and underwear and dishes he heads down the hall for the washer calling behind him, "You're fine Pony. You're not sick. Soda you got anything that needs washin'?"

I'm not sick? Who the hell does he think he is telling me whether or not I feel sick? I think about making myself throw up. I hear you can do that if you stick your finger down your throat. God I hate throwing up. There's probably no way I'd be able to go through with it.

The sound of the washer drowns out the television and my brothers' conversation. I picture my mother out there with them. Her arms are folded and she's shaking her head, tapping one foot. "You shouldn't have sent him," she says, her whispered words shaming the both of them. "It's way too soon." I want my mother. I need her to tell them. If she could just tell them, they'd listen. Then they'd realize they were so wrong. Today was too soon.

Suddenly my dad appears out of the kitchen to join the conversation, his words sounding tight from a cheek packed with Red Man. "Sooner the better for that one," and my heart sinks. "The longer he lays back there in his room the harder it'll be on'im." And I should've expected he'd side with Darry.

I have to face the inevitable. I'm headed back to school tomorrow even if it takes Darry tying me up and hand delivering me to homeroom. I know my brother well enough to know that he never budges. I might as well get on with my night.

I'm hungry and I hope there's some soup left. I walk right by Darry who's fishing Soda's red sweatshirt out of the washer. "Soda dammit, I'm doin' whites right now. Keep your colors out...'less you want pink underwear."

"S'okay, I can pull off pink too," Soda calls from the kitchen where I join him. He's got an ear up to the radio and I don't even question what he's listening for. It's not unusual for him to be caught up in a contest and waiting for a song, hoping to be the first caller to win some prize. So far he's only ever won two tickets to the rodeo and a KAKC Big 97 coffee mug that Mom adopted to serve as our toothbrush stand.

There's no soup on the stove so I'm out of luck there. As I'm surveying my choices in our alarmingly empty pantry, the Oscar Meyer jingle starts up and Soda's able to take a commercial break. "Oh Pony," he snaps like he's remembering something, "you got a call earlier. Some kid from your art class. Said you left your book in there, World Something or Other, and she's got it in case you're lookin'." _She?_

I stand up straight, close the pantry door and swivel on sock feet to face Soda. "Who was it?" Soda breaks into an amused grin when he sees my sudden interest. He thinks my face is red because I might like somebody. He doesn't know it's for the shame of what took place in that art room this afternoon.

"Jane. She sounded kinda nervous," and just for my benefit he adds, "like maybe she's got the hots for you." His eyebrows are dancing up and down.

"Janie Dumeyer?" my voice cracks on my surprise. Surely to God he's got the name wrong. Maybe he misheard Jane and it's really Lorraine. That I could maybe understand. Lorraine talks my ear off. But I can't imagine Janie Dumeyer taking the time to look for 'Curtis, Darrel S.' in the phone book and dialing up my digits to tell me she's holding my book for me.

"She didn't say her last name. Just Jane. Shh.. hold on a sec," Soda hushes the both of us by waving his hand in the air and he doesn't have time for this right now since the DJ's voice has returned. I fall into a chair with a heavy breath and a bag of chips and pray that Janie doesn't happen to flip through my book and see all the stupid doodles I've left in the margins.

I lay a potato chip on my tongue and close my mouth, sucking the salt off and try to imagine what I'll say when I take back my book. I slowly chew the now soggy, limp chip and ask myself what does it matter. She saw me weak and broken down with my head on my desk today. She feels sorry for me at best. Disgusted by me at worst. Darry walks through the kitchen and tugs at my hair. "Ouch," I wince and bring my hand to the back of my head. "What the hell was that for huh?"

"You've got a bunch of cracker crumbs stuck in your hair moron," and Darry's at me again, but he does give somewhat of a smile while he takes the bottle opener to his Dr. Pepper. Like the smile's gonna make me feel better at being called a moron. And I guess it kinda does. A little. He tips the bottle and his head back and guzzles for awhile, then has to come up for air and wipes the back of his mouth. "And I thought you were the cleaner little brother. Hell you make Soda look neat and organized and that's no small feat. Go take a shower for crying out loud and get some clean sheets out of the…"

Before Darry can finish, Soda's slap against the counter and his eruption of "hot fuckin' damn" has us losing our breaths and whipping our heads around to watch him jump up on a chair. He throws both arms upward like the Holy Spirit's entered his body and I think he must've won something huge because even the rodeo didn't have him up on a chair like this. That night he just hollered and ran around the house a couple of times. The celebration was cut short when he accidentally body slammed Mom, an innocent bystander who got too close to his victory path.

"What?" Darry and I ask in unison, waiting for his big news.

My crazy brother cups his hands around his mouth and shouts like the whole block needs to know. "Tulsa County schools will be closed tomorrow," and my jaw drops open, not even realizing it's been snowing, having no clue that it was weather and school announcements Soda was waiting on this whole time. He jumps off the chair and gives me a high five. "Now I don't have to study for Ms. Molotti's quiz," and he seems so elated and relieved about that, but Darry and I both know it's not like he was ever going to study for it anyway. I don't think Soda's brought a book home this whole school year.

"Ms. Molotti the Hottie still ain't married?" Darry asks and Soda tells him she's engaged and not nearly as hot anymore anyway.

The tide turns and I leave my brothers in the kitchen to discuss the sudden concern over a slowly dissolving roofing schedule, because raining on parades is Darry's specialty. I head for the front door to check the weather and notice the note by the phone that Soda scribbled. Barely legible I can make out "Jane", "World Civ book", and "Please don't worry." _Don't worry. About what? My book? About what happened today?_ My stomach and all its knots begin to ease a little.

I walk out into the kind of deep silence that only snow has the power to create. There's probably only about an inch or so. But it sits on top of about a quarter inch of ice, the real reason the school doors will stay closed and most of the city will probably shut down tomorrow. Nobody's too good driving in wintery weather here in Tulsa. Thank God. I needed this. I asked for one more day and tonight it's come like some gift of grace from above. And I believe it has.

The branches hang heavy with their icy coating, twinkling with the porch lights and the street lamps and the winter stars. Hard to believe how a neighborhood this trashy and rough could suddenly look like it's straight out of a fairytale book. The cold chains of the bench swing rattle when I coast back and forth on it, and I think about my parents. It's always going to be too soon to go back. I know that. But an extra day can't hurt, and neither can the calm and soothing peace of a surprise snowfall, and from a pretty girl a note with such a sweet and gentle message.

 _Please don't worry_ , the universe whispers in my ear tonight.

 **A/N:** Outsiders by SE Hinton

 _Thank you for reading, and allowing my one shot indulgences :)_


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